


the tipping point

by grahamcracker76



Category: White Collar
Genre: AU where they grow some actual communication skills, Angst, Developing Relationship, Domestic Bliss, Getting Together, More angst, Multi, Pining, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24343957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grahamcracker76/pseuds/grahamcracker76
Summary: What would have happened if Neal told Peter about the treasure before it was too late?A season 3 fix-it.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Comments: 12
Kudos: 102





	the tipping point

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve seen White Collar, you know that season 3 is an angst fest of epic proportions. My favorite part about all this is that while we were rewatching this season, my mom would keep saying multiple times “I don’t like this dynamic because they all love each other!” And that is amazing because it comes from a member of the most mainstream audience possible. It made my shipper heart very happy that even my mom could see that these characters belong together.  
> Being a shipper myself, I am also not a fan of how they constantly try to mess with the relationships on the show, so I thought I would write a fix-it for season 3. Spoiler alert: the main fix-it’s here involve good communication skills and lots of sex.  
> I hope you enjoy this alternate season 3 story! I start out following the show pretty closely, and then I get to play.

It starts with Neal hooked up to a polygraph, sitting across from Jones as Peter stands behind him. Peter is bristling with tension, his lips a tight, angry line as he studies Neal’s face as though he can read all his secrets there. As though he doesn’t know that all he ever had to do was ask.

“I’m going to need you to tell a lie,” Jones says.

“I have never told a lie,” Neal says.

***

It starts with Peter shaking with anger, his eyes on fire as he hurls accusations in Neal’s face.

“You did this,” Peter spits with such conviction that Neal rears back in shock.

“Peter, those were masterpieces,” Neal protests. “I would  _ never _ let them burn, you know that,” he says, but Peter just shakes his head.

“But you’d steal them,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Even breathing is painful when Peter is looking at him like that. Neal forces in a breath, and he’s shaking all over, coming apart at the seams. He looks at the fury in Peter’s eyes, and he knows that nothing he can say or do will change Peter’s mind.

“Then prove it,” he says, tearing his gaze away from that look of utter betrayal. “Prove it.”

***

It starts with the explosion at the warehouse, rushing back to save everything, anything, knowing they won’t make it.

“You won’t get away with this,” Adler says, pointing his gun in Neal’s face. Neal backs up slowly, raising his hands.

Behind him, the art burns.

Click, bang.

Adler falls to the ground, dead.

Peter is looking into Neal’s eyes, his gaze steady as he holsters his weapon. His heart pounding, Neal looks down to see Adler lying at his feet, a bullet in his head. A bullet that came from Peter’s gun. Peter, who just killed a man for Neal. Peter, who is looking at him with no regret in his eyes. Peter, who would do it again without a second thought.

Neal draws in a breath, and the world begins again.

***

It starts with him and Peter, together, always together. It starts with their hearts beating fast, making pointless conversation because the only alternative is completely losing it, knowing that they could be blown to pieces at any moment.

“No talking!” Adler snaps over the loudspeakers.

Neal huffs, impatient. “If you don’t like it, you come down here and do it yourself,” he says.

Peter raises his eyebrows, amused. “That shut him up,” he says.

“Ok,” Neal says, as they get ready to open the U-boat’s hatch. He pauses, looks up to meet Peter’s steady gaze, trying to convey with his eyes everything he can’t say. “Peter, if this doesn’t work…”

He hesitates, hardly knowing what to say.

_ Thanks for everything? _

_ I love you? _

_ There’s nowhere I’d rather be? _

Peter smiles. “Me too,” he says.

***

It starts in the back of a limo after retracing Alex’s steps, having fallen into Adler’s trap like amateurs. It starts with the door opening to reveal Peter, who obviously retraced Neal’s steps when he realized Neal disappeared. Peter who will always find him, always save him, no matter what.

He can’t let Peter fall into this trap with Adler, not for him.

His eyes on Peter, he shakes his head.

_ It’s a trap. _

_ Don’t come with me. _

_ Run, run and don’t look back. _

Peter looks at him, his lips pursing in determination. He holsters his gun and slides into the car beside Neal without hesitation.

Because they’re a team, and that’s what they do, for each other.

Together, always together.

***

It ends in the early hours of the morning.

Peter finally releases him from interrogation, but it is clear that no matter what the polygraph tells him, he does not believe a word Neal says. It is clear that something has broken between them, something fundamental and irretrievable, and Neal doesn’t know how, or why. He doesn’t know why losing Peter feels like he’s losing himself, too.

He comes home to find the card left on his table, directing him to a storage unit.

_ You’ll thank me, _ the card reads.

It ends with him, standing alone in the midst of countless treasures, all miraculously rescued from the warehouse.

At first, Neal feels only elation, heady and breathless. But then the rush fades, and he is left with nothing but dread and a single thought.

What will he tell Peter?

***

When he finally gets back home, drained and exhausted, Mozzie is waiting for him.

_ I should have known, _ Neal thinks, sighing as he sees the little island girl sitting on his table.

“Her name is Lelana,” Mozzie informs him.

“Is she from any island in particular?” he asks.

“Whatever island your heart desires,” Mozzie says, champagne glasses at the ready.

Neal smiles distantly. In the past, he would have felt just as excited as Mozzie. Now, all he can feel is dread.

“So I guess this is from you,” he says, holding up the card that had led him to the treasure. He raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Plausible deniability,” Mozzie explains.

And Neal gets it, he really does. Part of him is pissed at Mozzie, pissed that he did this without asking Neal, without saying a word. At the same time, part of him is desperately grateful that he didn’t know; that he didn’t have to lie to Peter, even if Peter didn’t believe a word he said anyway.

“We finally got it,” Mozzie says. “We finally got our white whale.”

It’s true, after all. It was always their plan: once they had enough resources, they would escape to paradise island, to start their new life with no worries and no obligations. It was their ultimate dream.

But now, Neal finds that their old dream feels oddly empty. He is no longer satisfied with the promise of endless island bliss. He has a life here. He has new dreams. But Mozzie hadn’t known that, and Neal won’t punish him for it.

But. He sighs. “It’s not that simple,” he says. “I just spent five hours in interrogation with Peter. He suspects something.”

“All the more reason for haste,” Mozzie says, handing Neal the champagne glass. “To our best - and final - score.”

They toast. Neal tries to feel as excited as he should, but the champagne tastes bitter in his mouth.

***

Peter is different with him the next morning, cold and distant.

“I passed your lie detector,” Neal reminds him.

“I’ve seen you do that before,” Peter says.

“What, you think I cheated?” Neal asks.

“I’ve seen you do  _ that _ before,” Peter repeats with a humorless laugh.

Neal sighs. “Look, if you’re not going to talk to me, let’s at least keep it civil,” he tries.

“Okay,” Peter says blandly, “how ‘bout them Mets?”

“Peter, what’s wrong?” Neal says, hopelessly frustrated, wishing he could do something, anything to bridge the rift between them. Knowing what he  _ could _ do (tell Peter about the treasure) but unwilling to betray another friend (he’s known Mozzie longer than Peter, anyway - he owes him that much). “What turned you against me?”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Oh, I turned against you?”

“We’re a team,” Neal insists.  _ I miss being a team, _ he wants to say.  _ I miss you. I’m sorry. Come back to me. _ “We did this,” he says, holding up today’s paper, their case on the front page.

Peter looks at the paper, looks up at him, his lips pursed tight, his face an inscrutable mask.

“This is our job,” he says, as though he’s trying to convince himself. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

He walks on, leaving Neal staring after him feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.

Before the warehouse, he  _ knows _ that it wasn’t just a job, for Peter or for him. It was a partnership. It was solid, and good, and real. But now, everything has changed. Something is broken between them. Gone is their easy partnership, their growing friendship. Gone is the tantalizing possibility of something more, always just out of reach, now gone for good. 

Peter will never trust him again.

***

At the office, it’s even worse.

Their new case involves one of Neal’s old aliases, whose specialties happened to include smuggling. The worst part is that Peter is being a hardass about it, and he knows it.

“I get it,” Neal tells him, frustrated. “You think I might activate my alias to smuggle something out of the country. Something like stolen Nazi treasure?”

Peter raises his eyebrows. He moves on. (He doesn’t deny it.)

“We think Lawrence is trying to find your alias Gary Rydell. We want you to help find our sixty million.”

Neal purses his lips. “You really think Lawrence will take that risk?”

Peter studies him. Neal knows that Peter hears what he can’t say.  _ You really think I would take that risk? I don’t want to. Please stop me. _

“If you were one step away from the biggest score of your life,” Peter says, “could  _ you _ let it go?” His voice is heavy with subtext neither of them will acknowledge.

Neal looks away.

***

“Peter’s not just playing a hunch - he  _ knows _ something,” Neal tells Mozzie later. “Is there  _ anything _ from the heist that could be connected to me?”

Mozzie stops, and Neal’s heart stutters. “Mozz,” he insists.

“You know that studio where you keep your art?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Now it’s just a studio,” Mozzie says.

Oh, crap. “Mozz, you know what this means,” he says.

“Nothing could have survived the fire!” Mozzie protested.

Neal looks at him.

“Nothing  _ should _ have survived the fire,” Mozzie allows, contrite.

But “should have” is not enough.

Neal knows that, now.

***

Neal loses his tie, and he is not amused.

“It’s cruel and unusual to bring me back here like this,” he complains, going straight to the drawer in his desk where he keeps his extra ties.

“Yes, but I’m finally smiling,” Peter says grimly.

Neal glances at him, seeing clearly that it’s not Peter’s real smile, the smile that’s just for him. It’s a hollow victory, and they both know it.

He has Diana help him pick out a replacement tie, because he trusts Peter with his life, but when it comes to fashion? Not so much.

Peter picks his ruined tie up from the ground and Neal raises his eyebrows.

“I’ve driven you to dumpster diving?” he asks, amused.

“A souvenir of Neal Caffrey’s imperfect moment?” Peter says, his lips twitching. “Priceless.”

Peter keeps the tie, twisting it around his fingers and tucking it away. Something in Neal warms at the sight - that little gesture says more than any angry words possibly could. Neal watches Peter hold onto his tie with careful fingers, and he knows that no matter what he might say, Peter still cares.

For the first time in days, Neal allows himself to hope.

***

Every time he turns around, it hits him.

He’s leaving.

He’s not coming back.

Ever.

He doesn’t  _ want _ to leave, though, and it’s tearing him apart.

“I’m going to miss this place,” he says a little wistfully one day, and Mozzie gives a small nod of agreement.

“Yeah, the views can’t be beat,” he says, but that’s not what Neal meant, not at all.

He’s never stayed in one place for so long before, unless you count prison, which he most definitely doesn’t. So yeah, he’ll miss having somewhere to call home, somewhere he belongs. He’ll miss June and her family. He’ll even miss Jones and Diana and his friends at the FBI. If you asked him ten years ago, he’d never have thought he’d ever be friends with the Feds, but things change.  _ He’s _ changed - he just hasn’t realized how much until now, when he’s faced with the harsh reality of leaving, and all that it would mean.

He’ll miss Elizabeth, who welcomed him wholeheartedly into her home and her life with Peter since day one and never looked back. Elizabeth, who is just as smart and devious as she is calm and grounding. Elizabeth, who jokes with him and flirts shamelessly with him and supports him without question or judgement. Elizabeth gives him something to believe in, a kind of life he never would have imagined possible, full of relationships built on trust and respect instead of lies and deception. Neal knows his life won’t be the same without her in it.

Most of all, he’ll miss Peter. He’ll miss the way Peter drives him crazy, the way Peter constantly challenges him to be better - to be more than just a con man. The way Peter believes he  _ can _ be better. He’ll miss the days Peter comes to pick him up at June’s, lazy breakfasts with pancakes and orange juice and coffee, the Italian Roast that keeps Peter coming back time and again. (The way Neal can’t help selfishly hoping it’s  _ him _ that keeps Peter coming back, at least in part.) He’ll miss the way Peter always fills out his crosswords in pen, stubbornly convinced he will know the right answers to everything (he usually does). And he’ll miss the way it feels when it’s the two of them together, when they’re working a case and something clicks and they’re totally in sync. There’s nothing like it. Neal’s never known anyone like Peter, and when it comes down to it, he knows he won’t be able to let him go.

***

It’s his Chrysler building painting that has Peter so suspicious of him - it has to be.

“Peter was here the night before the fire - that painting was on the easel,” Neal remembers. “He commented on it, remember?”

The night before the fire… back when everything was normal and he wasn’t keeping secrets he had no desire to have. Back when his friendship with Peter was something he was beginning to take for granted. Back when his life made some kind of sense.

Mozzie considers him. “So, let’s say the Suit does know something,” he says. “What’s the best way to figure out what he knows?”

***

“Neal,” Elizabeth says when she opens the door. “Peter’s not here.”

“I know,” Neal says. “I’m here to see you.”

Elizabeth frowns at him and raises her eyebrows - it’s the same look he often gets from Peter, the “you’re up to something and I will find out what it is” look. Elizabeth must have picked that look up from Peter, he thinks with a pang.

“Why don’t we have a cup of coffee, and you can tell me why you dropped by knowing Peter wasn’t here,” she says, stepping aside to let him in. As she leads him inside, Neal can’t help noticing that Elizabeth hastily closes a book and hides it under some mail. Whatever that book is, she clearly doesn’t want him to see it, and Neal knows what he has to do.

“So?” Elizabeth prompts, handing him a mug. “Talk to me, Neal.”

Neal sighs. “It’s just… Peter suddenly doesn’t trust me.”

Elizabeth looks at him, her dark eyes far too knowing, and she sighs. “Well, I don’t know how sudden it is,” she tells him. “You have a habit of doing the wrong things for the right reasons.” Her face is kind, like she understands, and Neal has to suppress the urge to tell her everything.

“I know,” he says instead. “I am trying.”

She smiles at him. “I know,” she says, covering his hand with her own. “Peter wants to trust you, Neal. You just keep giving him reasons not to.”

“I know,” Neal admits. “I trust Peter with my life, but sometimes, with our history… well, it’s not easy.”

Elizabeth squeezes his hand. “No one ever said it would be easy,” she says. “But I can tell you this much: it is worth it.”

Neal gives her a small smile and changes the subject before he gives away more than he ever meant to. Elizabeth can be sneaky when she wants to be - he’ll have to remember that. “And I can tell you this,” he says, “you make a mean cup of coffee. But I like a bit of milk in mine.”

Elizabeth studies him for a moment before nodding, seeming to take his desire to change the subject at face value. She ruffles his hair and pulls him close against her, pressing her lips to the side of his head. Neal closes his eyes and allows himself a moment to breathe her in, a moment to feel that he is right where he wants to be. A moment to feel like he belongs.

Then, Elizabeth is pulling away and Neal gathers himself to do what he came for. He manages to grab a picture of the book Elizabeth was hiding from him and gets back to the table before she notices. When Elizabeth hands him his mug, he desperately wishes that he didn’t have to lie to her. Elizabeth smiles at him and he smiles back, and something settles deep within him.

This is what he wants - a home with Peter and Elizabeth. This is what he wants - no secrets between them. This is what he wants - Peter and Elizabeth and Neal, together.

This is his new dream, and it has never been so far out of his reach.

***

They pull a con to get inside Elizabeth’s gallery in time to switch out the paintings.

Of course, Peter gets suspicious.

“I hear you gave Jones the runaround,” Peter says without preamble.

“Oh, that was Jones?” Neal says, trying for nonchalance. “I thought it was Lawrence. Didn’t want to blow my cover, you know. Why’d you put Jones on me?”

Peter huffs in his ear. “You really want me to answer that? Where are you now?”

“Home,” Neal says shortly. “Where else would I be?”

“Mmhmm? What are you doing?”

“Oh, you know. Arts and crafts - the usual.”

It’s not a lie - not really, Neal tells himself as he paints in the outline of the Chrysler, trying to ignore the guilt that twists his stomach.

“Well Jones is going to be at your place in twenty minutes,” Peter tells him. “He’s going to stay on you, and you’re going to let him, okay?”

“No problem,” Neal says. It’s not like there’s anything else he can do.

“Okay,” Peter says. “Bye.”

Great conversation, Neal thinks wryly. He hangs up and finishes up the Chrysler swatch. He’s on a time limit, now.

***

“So when’s go time?” Mozzie asks later that night.

“Lawrence’s text came in two minutes ago,” Neal says.

Mozzie blinks. “Why didn’t you tell me? This is it!”

Neal holds back a sigh. Mozzie is right, of course. This is it. Everything is ready - except for him. He’s not ready, and he doesn’t know if he will ever be ready to leave this place - to leave his home.

“We take our time,” he tells Mozzie instead. “We do it right.”

Mozzie studies him.

“Look,” he says, “you know everything good must one day come to an end. Just think - we’ll never see anything in this apartment again. Except you,” he adds, picking up Lelana from her place on the table. “You can come with me.”

Neal twists away as Mozzie picks out a bottle of wine, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over.

“Hey,” Mozzie says, “what are you doing? This is our final curtain call - our big au revoir!”

But all Neal can think is “I should say something to June.”

Mozzie stops him with a finger. “You know the rules,” he insists. “No goodbyes.”

Neal sighs. “Yeah,” he agrees. No goodbyes - it’s probably for the best. He can’t decide which would be more painful - having to make those goodbyes or leaving without them. It’s for the best, he tries to convince himself.

“I’m going to miss her too,” Mozzie tells him softly, conceding a rare moment of sentimentality. “I’m going to miss… all of it.”

Neal nods, allowing the sadness to overwhelm him, just for a moment. Allowing himself to feel... everything.

As Mozzie leaves, Neal takes a last look around the apartment, committing it to memory.  _ You’re never going to see anything in this apartment again _ , he thinks. It still doesn’t feel real.

He reaches into his back pocket and takes out his FBI consultant’s badge. “Bye, Caffrey,” he says. He likes being Neal Caffrey. He likes it more than he ever expected. He likes being Neal Caffrey here, in New York, and he doesn’t want to go.

But what choice does he have?

He leaves his badge on the table. Neal Caffrey, FBI consultant. It’s just one more thing he’ll never see again.

***

“I’m meeting Lawrence now,” he tells Peter. “I’m on my way to the fencing club.”

“Good,” Peter says. “Jones will back your play if anything goes wrong. I’m heading to the harbor. And Neal - be careful.”

“Always,” Neal says.

***

Then, everything goes sideways.

They have the money, but Lawrence’s men spot Jones and drag him in with his hands tied. They find his badge and Lawrence is spooked, ready to call off the whole thing. “They probably know about the harbor - the whole thing is blown,” Lawrence says. “The Fed… just kill him.”

“No - wait!” Neal says, holding Lawrence back, because that’s his friend they’re talking about - and now, if anything happens to Jones, it’s on him. “He’s no use to us dead,” Neal insists, “alive, we can use him as leverage. And you don’t need to worry about the harbor - you’re forgetting step three. When it all goes to hell, this is why you hire me.”

“Okay,” Lawrence says, “enlighten me. What’s step three?”

“Always have a backup plan,” Neal says, improvising. “I have a plane.”

He calls Mozzie, knowing this will throw a wrench in their own escape plans, but there’s no other way.

“Grab your suit and meet me there,” he says, knowing Mozzie will get the message even if he’s pissed about it..

He can’t do this without Peter - they’re a team, after all, and they’ve got a job to do.

***

Peter has them cornered just in time.

The plane slides to a halt on the runway and Neal lets out a breath. As they put Lawrence in cuffs, Peter claps Neal on the shoulder. “Step three, huh?” he asks.

“The part where you arrest him,” Neal says, enjoying the warmth of Peter’s approval, the warmth of his hand through his clothes.

Peter nods. “Nice work,” he says, and for a moment, it’s almost like things are back to normal between them again. “Jones, you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jones tells him. “Caffrey had my back.”

Neal smiles, because this feels good, getting a win for all the right reasons. Having a team around him, a team he can count on even when it all goes to shit.

_ Remember this feeling, _ he thinks. It’s something he won’t ever forget.

Then, Peter hands him the anklet, looking a little too smug about it, and Neal sighs.

“Ah, the anklet,” he says, but he can’t summon the energy to feel too bitter about it. In a way, it’s a relief. In a way, it is something physical tying him here. If it means he’ll get to stay in New York at least a little longer, the anklet is a small price to pay.

***

The next day, when Neal finds Peter in his apartment, he is hardly surprised.

What  _ does _ have him surprised is the warmth he feels at the sight, the overwhelming sense of contentment, the conviction that this is right. This is what he wants, Peter in his space, without secrets and lies tearing them apart.

This is what he’ll never have, if he believes Mozzie. “You’re fooling yourself if you think this is who you really are,” Mozzie had said. Neal isn’t so sure. He’s not sure about anything anymore, except that he wants to stay here.

“Hi, Peter,” Neal says.

Peter starts. “I let myself in,” he explains.

“Yeah. Yeah, you did,” Neal says, raising his eyebrows. Peter is still holding his remake of the Chrysler painting, his eyes wide as though he can’t quite believe it, as though he wants to believe it more than anything. “Just clearing some space for storage,” Neal says. “You like that one?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Peter says, and Neal smiles. He finds that he wants to give Peter things - something from him, no matter how small. If he does go… he wants to leave Peter with something to remember him by. But he can’t tell Peter any of that now, when he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do about this whole mess, about what he’s going to tell Peter or not tell him... about any of it.

“You can have it,” he tells Peter instead. “I’ve already got the view.”

Peter studies him. “I’m calling a truce,” he says carefully. “I may have rushed to judgement.”

“Oh, you had judgement on speed dial,” Neal says. He knows Peter’s not the only one at fault here, but that much is true.

Peter purses his lips. “I’m trying to be gracious,” he says.

“You kept my severed tie,” Neal reminds him, and Peter’s lips twitch.

“I was pretty pissed off,” he admits.

“And now?” Neal asks.

“Look at this,” Peter says, “I’m smiling again.”

“I like it,” Neal says, because it’s true - there’s nothing in the world better than Peter’s smile (his real smile) when it’s aimed at him.

The moment stretches between them, the silence heavy with all their unspoken words, everything they haven’t said.

Then, Peter’s phone beeps at him, and the moment is gone. “I’ve got to go,” Peter says.

“Peter,” he calls, “the door is always open.”

What he means:  _ Come by any time. You don’t even need to ask. I always want you here. If I leave, promise you’ll always find me and drag me back. I’ve finally found somewhere I belong and it’s because of you. _

In the end, he says none of it. In the end, Peter nods, and the door closes behind him.

Neal tries not to think of it as a sign.

***

Another day, another case.

This time, Neal and Peter have been called on to investigate a suspected case of will forgery. Or at least, that’s Peter’s story. Neal, on the other hand, knows that it was him who was really requested - Peter’s just tagging along for the fun of it. Or else, he’s here to keep an eye on him - Neal has a hard time telling the difference, these days.

“Are you saying I’m irrelevant to this case?” Peter asks, when Neal brings it up.

“Well, they requested that I authenticate the will - I don’t recall you being mentioned,” Neal says, unable to resist. “You really think one of Roland’s sons forged his will?”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “People do a lot of crazy things for money.”

“You really think they’d be that stupid?” Neal asks. What he doesn’t say:  _ you really think  _ I’d _ be that stupid? _ He doesn’t ask - he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

Peter shrugs. “That’s what we’re going to find out,” he says.

“That’s what  _ I’m _ going to find out,” Neal reminds him.

Peter shakes his head, his lips curved in a small smile.

It’s good to see, and Neal resolves to make Peter smile like that as much as he can. This truce of Peter’s is doing them both good - maybe he can try to make things right.

***

As it turns out, both of the wills are forgeries. Neither brother is happy with it, but then, what can they do?

“So what happens now?” they ask.

“Before we jump to any conclusions, we need to run a few tests,” Peter says, “when we find something, we will let you know.”

As they leave, Neal elbows him. “Trying to be relevant again?” he teases.

“Oh, be quiet,” Peter says, but there’s no heat in it. His smile is real, and there is laughter in his eyes.

Neal feels lighter than he has in weeks.

***

Mozzie gets him a treasure cam.

“I know how hard this must be for you,” he says. “Now, we can both keep an eye on our fortune twenty four seven.”

“Thank you, Mozz,” Neal says, and he means it. No matter what mixed feelings he has about leaving, about all of it, this really is something to see.

“Oh, by the way - have you chosen a name yet?” Mozzie asks.

“Close,” Neal says shortly.

“Glen Close?” Mozzie tries.

“No - I’m working on it,” Neal says. “We might have to live with this one until the end. I just want to make sure it feels as good as Neal Caffrey.”

Mozzie huffs. “A rose by any other name, Neal. Choose, because very soon we’re going to be on an airplane to a different life.”

_ Soon, _ Neal thinks, his heart sinking even as he looks at the treasure laid out before them. Whenever ‘soon’ might be, he knows he will never be ready.

***

“We got biometrics back from the lab,” Peter tells him the next day. “The signatures are both forgeries.”

Neal grins. “I could have told you that,” he says. “Oh wait - I  _ did _ tell you that.”

“Yeah, and based on your observations, we ran a few other tests,” Peter says. “Turns our Roland forged the witness signatures on both wills.”

Neal peers at the wills for a moment, his brow furrowed.

“What do you see?” Peter asks.

“The names are funny,” Neal says, “same letters… they’re anagrams.”

They get to work, and within a few minutes, they have their answer.

“Tycho Brahe,” Neal says, “fifteenth century Dutch astronomer.”

“Sixteenth and Danish,” Peter corrects him with a little smirk. “Close, though - almost impressive.”

“Well, well,” Neal says, leaning back in his chair. “Look who is relevant now.”

“What kind of message do you think he was trying to leave behind?”

“He closes both wills with the line ‘in the end, there should be nothing between you, which is everything,’” Neal reads.

“Cryptic,” Peter says.

Neal nods, still studying the wills. Then, he notices the symbols. “Wait a minute,” he says. “Peter, look at this. These look like streets… a compass rose?” They look at each other, and the excitement is almost palpable. “This isn’t a message - it’s a map.”

***

It is a treasure hunt - but the brothers seem to have no enthusiasm for it, no matter how much Peter and Neal wish they did.

“I told you it was a map,” Neal says.

“Never said it wasn’t,” Peter tells him. “Unfortunately, the director has not authorized the FBI treasure hunting unit.”

Neal sighs. He knows how much Peter wants to solve this puzzle, but then, he also knows how much Peter thinks he shouldn’t. He knows how Peter seems convinced that he doesn’t deserve the finer things in life. “Look, why don’t we just drop by the park?” he tries. “Make sure there’s nothing illicit at the sundial?”

“I can’t,” Peter says regretfully. “I’ve got lunch with El - but you can take a look.”

“But you still want to come,” Neal says.

“Yes,” Peter admits, unable to deny it.

“I could really use your astronomical expertise,” Neal insists. No matter how much he’d ribbed Peter about his relevancy (or lack thereof), he wants Peter there with him. Without Peter, it won’t be the same.

But Peter seems determined. “No, I can’t. Not this time. Just… keep me updated, will you?”

***

Neal calls Mozzie in. They get to work, but he was right - it’s not the same without Peter there to tease him and push him and challenge him at every turn.

Which reminds him… “Remember how I told you things were getting back to normal between me and Peter?” he says.

Mozzie sighs. “One sentence in and I already hate this conversation,” he says. “What is the Suit up to now?”

“I found this in Peter’s jacket,” Neal says, handing over his makeshift impression of the key he’d found earlier that day. “Can you make a copy?”

“Yeah, give me a day and I’ll bring it over. What else?”

“Peter had someone in from DC Art Crimes in this morning. Hang on, I recorded part of their conversation.”

He hands over his phone and Mozzie raises his eyebrows. “Very daring,” he says.

“Can you tell what they’re saying?” Neal asks.

“Sure. Something about the art, and then… an original manifest?”

“Oh, this is bad,” Neal says. “Mozz, you realize what this means? If we sell anything that’s on that list…”

“It will lead them right back to us,” Mozzie finishes, his eyes widening. “Neal, we have to get that list.”

“We need that list,” Neal agrees, but then Peter and Elizabeth round the corner, supplies in hand. “Later, okay?” he tells Mozzie. They can worry about their own treasure later - right now, they’ve got another treasure map to follow.

***

Later that night, Sara finds the treasure cam.

Later that night, Sara leaves him.

“I know about the treasure, Neal,” she says, her voice shaking, her eyes wet. “Were you ever going to tell me? Were you even going to say goodbye?”

Neal sighs. “I nearly told you,” he says, “so many times.”

“But you didn’t,” Sara says.

“But I didn’t,” Neal agrees. “Would you have come with me? If I asked you?”

Sara gives a shaky laugh. “Neal… the thing is, you live in the clouds, and I live here, on the ground. We’re very different people, no matter how much…” she heaves a sigh, brushing her hair out of her face. “No,” she says, “I wouldn’t go with you.”

Neal nods, avoiding her gaze. Instead, he looks at her boxes, scattered around the apartment, all the little signs that she was here, at least for a little while.

“So I guess this is goodbye,” he says.

Sara nods. “Goodbye, Neal,” she says, reaching up to press her lips to his, soft and sweet.

Neal closes his eyes and breathes her in, his fingers sliding into her hair.  _ Remember this. _

Sara pulls away, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Take care of yourself,” she says. “Please.”

***

Neal doesn’t have much time to brood over Sara, because the next day, the urgency of their case escalates.

“Neal,” Peter greets him when he steps off the elevator that morning. “Conference room. Our treasure hunt just turned into a kidnapping.”

“Savannah?” Neal asks.

Peter nods. “The kidnapper is asking for 6.4 million dollars - that’s the exact amount of Roland’s will. That means whoever took Savannah has seen the will. This just got personal.”

He looks at Neal, his gaze hard and determined. Neal has learned to respect that look on Peter’s face - it means he won’t stop until this is done. It means he will succeed through sheer force of will to see this through. It means that whatever else is going on between them, the case comes first.

Neal meets his gaze and nods. Focus on the work - he can do that. “So we find the real will, and we find Savannah,” he says. He glances at Josh, considering. “We followed the will to the sundial,” he says. “It gave us the letters BSH. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Yeah, it was Dad’s favorite anagram,” Josh tells them. “Big Sky Hunting - it usually meant we were going to the Planetarium - the only place to see the stars in Manhattan, as he would say.”

“So that’s where we’ll go next,” Peter says. “You stay here. Work with us. We will find Savannah.”

Josh looks at Neal, who nods. “If anyone can, it’s Peter,” he says. “He’s the best.”

As they head down in the elevator, Peter turns to him, looking almost hesitant. “You’re really so convinced we can do this?”

Neal lets out a breath and turns to face him. They’re mere inches from each other, comfortable as ever in each other’s space. Neal can feel Peter’s warmth all around him, and for a single breathless moment, he is seized with the overwhelming urge to press him against the wall and show him with lips and teeth and tongue just how convinced he is.

Instead, Neal sticks his hands in his pockets, guarding against temptation. He’s not used to denying himself the things he wants, but for Peter, he can try.

“Yes, I am,” he says, meeting Peter’s questioning gaze. “It’s you, Peter. You caught me twice. You can do this, no problem.”

Peter smiles. “ _ We _ can do this,” he corrects. “You’re part of the team now, and don’t you forget it.”

_ Part of the team, _ Neal thinks wistfully. Yeah, he’s going to miss this.

***

Neal was right, of course - they find Savannah, and they find the will.

Peter just shakes his head, his lips twitching with good humor. “Okay, now you can say you told me so,” he says, but Neal only smiles in response.

“Nah, that’s fine. I’ll save it for another time.”

Peter chuckles. “Hey, does this look like a compass rose to you?” he asks, holding up two pieces of paper from his desk.

“No, it looks like real estate fraud,” Neal says, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re right. Not everything can be a treasure hunt.”

Neal smiles. “See you tomorrow, Peter.”

“Neal?” Peter says before he leaves. “It’s good to be back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Neal agrees. “Yeah, it is.”

***

“It’s the key to a safe,” Mozzie says later the next day. “A wall safe, very high end. You think the Suit’s keeping it in the office?”

Neal shakes his head. “No, it’s too risky. If he’s keeping it from the Bureau, he wouldn’t want the manifest anywhere near the office.” ( _ And if he’s protecting me, he would be just as careful _ , he thinks, but doesn’t say.)

“So if it’s not at the office, it’s at the Suit homestead,” Mozzie concludes. “You think you can get in?”

“I know I can,” Neal says. He pushes aside a twinge of guilt at the thought of breaking into Peter and Elizabeth’s house, the thought of sneaking around in their home like a thief in the night when all he wants is to be invited there for good. “It would need to be a Friday night - Fridays are Peter’s poker nights. Could you distract Elizabeth?”

“With pleasure, my friend,” Mozzie says.

Neal pockets the key. “Friday it is.”

***

On Friday night, Peter ends up stuck on a stakeout instead of going to his usual poker game, but that works just as well for their purposes. Neal calls Mozzie from the office before he leaves. “Mozz, I’m heading out,” he says. “Do you have Elizabeth?”

“I am on my way as we speak. Mrs. Suit and I will spend the night at the exhibit, leaving you plenty of time to get into the safe. Let me know when you’re done, will you?”

“Sure,” Neal says. “See you on the flip side.”

***

He gets in with no problems. Satch noses inquisitively around his feet as he disables the security, and Neal gives the dog some absent hello scritches, trying not to imagine how this would go on a normal night, how it’s happened many times before.

Peter would bring him home after a long day at the office so they could continue puzzling through their case, because Peter was nothing if not a workaholic. Neal would help Elizabeth with dinner while Peter leaned against the counter nearby, walking through the case with him. Then, they would all sit at the table together, talking about their day and trading gossip and making each other laugh. After dinner had been eaten and the dishes were drying in the sink, they would wander to the living room and turn on something mindless, reveling in the luxury of switching the outside world off for a while.

And best of all, Neal was always an integral part of this, in Peter and Elizabeth’s home. It was Peter and Elizabeth and Neal, and it felt easy and natural and right. It felt like he belonged, when he’d never really belonged anywhere. He felt wanted and accepted because he was Neal Caffrey, and not just because he was working an angle or pulling a con or trying to make them like him. Neal didn’t have to pretend be anyone else with Peter and Elizabeth - he just had to be himself.

Unfortunately, sometimes “being Neal Caffrey” means keeping secrets, even when he doesn’t want to. Unfortunately, it means breaking into Peter and Elizabeth’s home in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, it means listening for the subtle noises of Peter’s hidden safe slowly unlocking as Satchmo looks on as disapprovingly as a dog can.

The safe clicks open, and Neal breathes a sigh of relief. “Don’t give me that look,” he tells Satchmo, peering into the safe.

Inside, he finds a single singed page of paper carefully protected in laminate - it’s the manifest. The original manifest from the Nazi sub. So Peter did have it all along, and he never mentioned it to Neal. But then again, he presumably never mentioned it to the FBI - except maybe Diana, Neal reminds himself. Peter would never knowingly put him in danger without good reason, Neal is sure of it. He snaps a picture and makes to put it back, but then, he notices something else in the safe.

It’s a photo of the team: Peter, Neal, Jones, and Diana in the foreground with the rest of the Harvard crew clustered around them. All of them are smiling wide, and Peter most of all of them, grinning ear to ear with his arms slung around Jones and Neal’s shoulders.

Neal remembers that day - it had been a good one. Apparently Peter remembers it too, and remembers it fondly, if furtively. It’s telling, Neal thinks, that Peter keeps this photo hidden away in a high end safe. It’s as if he thinks he’s not allowed to enjoy simple luxuries like happiness and friendship. It’s as if this memory is as precious and dangerous as Nazi treasure.

Neal’s heart twists in sympathy for Peter, his stoic friend who hides away in a shell of indifference, keeping his warmest feelings hidden away under lock and key. Peter, who has so much trouble trusting Neal, even to the smallest degree. Peter, who probably wants to trust him more than anything.

Neal sighs and sits down on the bed, putting his head in his hands. Suddenly, he feels more conflicted than ever. Yes, Peter has been keeping things from him, but Neal is sure that he’s not doing it to hurt Neal - he’s doing it to keep him safe. The least he can do is keep Peter’s secret, too.

Then, his phone rings. Neal checks the caller ID and shakes his head - Peter always seems to have a sixth sense, where he is concerned. “Hey, Peter,” he says. “How’s the stakeout?”

Peter chuckles. “Jones is on a coffee run. Nothing too exciting. Look, Neal… that call you made before you left tonight…” he pauses, and Neal finds himself dreading what Peter might say next. “Was it Sara?” Peter asks, and Neal relaxes in relief.

“Yeah, she’s not taking any of my calls,” he says.

“That must be weighing on you,” Peter says.

“You have no idea,” Neal tells him.

Peter sighs in his ear. “Look, I know things have been… difficult between us, recently. We’ve had to keep things from each other. But Neal, if you need to talk… and I mean really talk, I’m here for you. I think you deserve some happiness. Whatever I can do to make that happen…”

“I’ll let you know,” Neal says, fighting the urge to spill everything, to tell Peter just how integral he himself is to his happiness. “Peter… thank you.”

“Any time,” Peter says, his voice warm. “See you tomorrow, Neal.”

Neal ends the call and tightens his grip around the phone, his fingers shaking. He can’t do this anymore, the secrets, the lies… something has got to give, and Neal feels it has to be soon. He’s come to a tipping point, and he will fall one way or the other.

His phone buzzes again, and Neal sighs. “Mozz,” he says.

“The suspense is killing me,” Mozzie says. “Did you get into the safe?”

“Yeah,” Neal says. “Yeah, I did.”

“And?” Mozzie presses.

Neal lets out a breath. He knows what he has to do. “The manifest wasn’t there. Look, Mozz, We always knew this was a long shot.”

His friend huffs in response. “Yeah, but I thought…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Neal says, cutting him off. He feels like he’s shaking out of his skin, coming apart at the seams, and he can’t take any more of this today.

“Tomorrow,” Mozzie agrees.

Neal sighs, and disconnects the call. He’s just lied to his best friend. He’s just lied, for Peter. He’s made enough big decisions for one day. Whatever else happens… he’ll deal with it tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’ll decide what to tell Mozzie, and Peter.

***

But the next day, there’s not much time for idle thinking.

Keller is back, and they are on his case. Apparently, he’s pulled some high profile jobs stealing Egyptian antiquities, and he’s been working with an Egyptologist to get them ready to go.

“So, if we get an in with her, she can lead us to Keller,” Peter concludes as they sit in the conference room pouring over files. “Neal?”

Neal leans back in his seat and gives him his best shit-eating smile. “Peter?”

“How’s your knowledge of Egyptian antiquities?”

“You really have to ask?” Neal says. “I can do this.”

“Good,” Peter says. “Set up the meet.”

The meet goes off without a hitch. Sure, Peter is pissed Neal didn’t go along with his plan, but hey, Neal has to keep things interesting somehow. 

***

“So, I hear Keller is back,” Mozzie says.

“Yeah, Peter’s trying to catch him,” Neal says. “Honestly though, I’m not sure how successful we’ll be. Or if I want to find him in the first place.”

Mozzie chuckles. “Chances are, he’ll find you before you find him.” He nods to a newspaper stand nearby, filled with enough glaring headlines to make them nervous. Priceless treasure found, Nazi sub discovered, the treasure of a lifetime… it went on and on. “Not exactly subtle, is he?”

“He knows we have the treasure,” Neal concludes.

“Oh, I don’t think he knows it for sure,” Mozzie says. “But he clearly suspects something, which is just as dangerous. It means we need to make our move soon, Neal, before we can’t.”

Neal glances at him. “Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

“I’ve been very patient with you, Neal,” Mozzie says, “and it’s not that I don’t get how difficult this is, but we need to make a decision. So, you have forty eight hours to decide. Are you going to stay here with Peter, or come with me?”

Neal shakes his head. “Mozz, I can’t…”

“Forty eight hours,” Mozzie repeats. “It’s time to make a choice, Neal.”

***

Neal wakes the next morning filled with a vague sense of dread. He stares at the ceiling and catches his breath as he remembers: the ultimatum. Forty eight hours to decide if he stays, or if he goes.

Neal lets out a breath and slides out of bed, padding barefoot to the bathroom. He switches on the shower and tips his face into the spray, letting the warm water wash over him. He’s not usually one for introspection, but sometimes these things are forced on him. Forty eight hours to decide what he wants.

If only it were so simple.

Only one thing is that simple, at least in theory: Peter. Neal wants Peter; he wants him with an all-consuming desperation that sometimes throws even himself off guard. And he wants Elizabeth too, though that came as more of a surprise - wanting Peter had hit him like a ton of bricks, while Elizabeth snuck up on him when he wasn’t looking until wanting them both seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Neal lets himself imagine them: Peter and Elizabeth. He pictures Elizabeth, her dark hair and bright eyes, her piercing gaze that always seems to see right through him, always seeming to understand him more than he understands himself. He pictures the beautiful curves of her body, the way her skin would feel under his hands, the sounds she would make as she rocks against him.

And he pictures Peter pushing into him from behind, his fingers digging into his skin, rough and possessive. He pictures Peter sucking a bruise onto his neck as he drives into him again and again, making him feel everything with each thrust.

Neal bites his lip and wraps a hand around his dick, stroking himself hard and fast until he comes with a shout.

He leans back against the slick tiles and catches his breath, his body still thrumming with endorphins. He’s done that before, jerking off to thoughts of Peter and El, but before, it had been harmless fantasy. He hadn’t really meant anything by it before, but he means it now, and it scares the hell out of him. Because it’s just a fantasy, but he’s never wanted a fantasy to be real.

So, conclusion number one: Neal wants them, Peter and Elizabeth. Yes, he may not have them now, but he will lose any chance of ever having them if he leaves, he knows that for sure.

***

Conclusion number two: Neal wants to stay in New York. He’s known this for a long time, of course, but it seems it bears repeating.

From the second Mozzie first mentioned leaving for island paradise, Neal knew he couldn’t do it. Even confined by the anklet to a two mile radius, New York is the best city he’s ever known. He’s never felt more at home than he does here. Even when he’d been happiest, at the Palazzo Sazzo in Ravello, some part of him had always known it was too good to be true. Some part of him knew that it couldn’t last forever.

But here, in New York, Neal finally feels that he belongs. Here, he has a purpose - he’s doing something that matters. He has a team, he has friends, he has a place to come to at the end of the day. He has a home, and he doesn’t want to leave it, because Neal knows that if he runs now, he can never come back, and he can’t accept that. He won’t accept that, even for Mozzie.

***

Conclusion number three: Neal wants to keep working for the FBI.

He’s just as surprised as anyone - if you told him ten years ago that very soon he’d not only be working for the Feds, he’d actually  _ want _ to, he would never have believed it. But there it is.

Of all the reasons he wants to stay in New York, the feeling he gets stepping off the elevator on the twenty first floor on Monday morning is a big one. Of all the reasons he wants to stay, having a team he can trust is a big one. Jones and Diana and Peter… they make him want to do more with his life. They make him want to be better.

If Neal is being completely honest with himself, he also wants this for purely selfish reasons, namely: he never wants to go back to prison. Those four years had been the longest years of his life, and he’s never going back if he can help it. Working for the FBI, he can still get the thrill of pulling a con without the threat of prison hanging over him. And besides, Neal is sure that Peter will never let him go back to prison unless he puts him there (and even then he wouldn’t do it without good reason).

Working for the FBI, Neal can keep doing what he’s good at, with the law on his side. Right now, Neal can’t imagine a better deal than that.

***

Neal is painting again - calming the nerves after a long, uncomfortable day of introspection. He’s come to some big conclusions that on some level he always knew but never really admitted to himself… until today. He can feel he’s on the verge of a big decision, but he hasn’t let himself tip over the edge yet. Somehow, taking that final step still seems too big for him to face. But, he’s done enough philosophizing for one day. Neal has finally decided what he wants… he’ll figure out how to get it tomorrow.

Then comes the knock on his door. Neal frowns - everyone he knows usually just barges right in, no time to spare for the common courtesy of knocking. He wipes off his brushes and throws the towel over his shoulder as he goes to the door… ah.

“Jones,” he says, not bothering to hide his surprise because sure, Jones has camped outside his apartment often enough, but he’s never come up. “What brings you here?”

Jones smiles and holds up a six pack. “I never thanked you properly,” he says. “For that thing with Lawrence. You had my back. Sooo… what do you say to some beer and company? Ketel One, isn’t that right?”

Neal smiles and holds the door open. “You’re a real charmer, Jones. Come on in.”

Jones takes a look around with all the would-be casual nonchalance of an FBI agent, eyeing the Monet impression he’d been working on with interest. “Arts and crafts?” he asks.

Neal nods. “Calms the nerves,” he explains, clearing his supplies off the table.

Jones raises his eyebrows. “You must paint a lot. Nerves about what in particular?”

“Oh, just Keller, back in the country,” Neal says, grabbing a bottle. It’s not even really a lie, he thinks - Keller is responsible for bringing this all to a head, after all. “Whenever he’s around, it gets me on edge. I always feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know?”

“Yeah, you used to run with him, didn’t you?” Jones says, taking a swig from his bottle. “That must be uncomfortable for you.”

Neal snorts. “Putting it mildly, yes. He was a different man, then. Or at least I thought so.”

Jones eyes him speculatively. “You’re a different man now, too, Caffrey,” he says. “You’re not the same man you were eight years ago.”

“Yeah?” Neal says. “I still want it all. That hasn’t changed.”

“Well tough, you can’t have it all.”

Neal raises an eyebrows. “Yeah, and why not?”

Jones meets his gaze evenly. “Well, because choices are sacrifices. And inevitably, that means giving up something they you want for something you want more.”

Neal considers him, and Jones grins, leaning back in his seat. “So now I have to ask, what does ‘having it all’ mean to Neal Caffrey?”

“Never having to worry about money,” Neal replies instantly. “Doing something that’s meaningful, being surrounded by people I care about and respect… that’s pretty much the dream.”

Jones stares at him, silent for a moment before he breaks into laughter. “Screw you,” he says, “you’re already living the dream. You are the damn dream with a tracking anklet.”

Neal shakes his head, and Jones just smirks at him. “Am I wrong?”

“Well screw you back Jones, because you’ve got the same things I do,” Neal says.

Jones smiles. “I do have it pretty good, don’t I?” he says. “Maybe not the same living arrangements…”

Neal laughs. “Well, we can’t have it all,” he echoes, raising his bottle in a mock salute. “Cheers, Jones.”

And he gets it, he really does, especially after a day like this. All day, he’s been making a decision. Take the treasure and escape to pleasure island, or stay here in New York with the people who make his new home so hard to leave? Something he wants, or something he wants more?

He’s finally made his choice - now, he’ll just need to deal with the fallout.

***

In the morning, Neal calls Mozzie.

“I have to tell Peter about the treasure,” he says without preamble.

For a moment, he hears nothing but static. Then:

“I take it this means you are not planning to enjoy the pleasures of island life,” Mozzie says. “Neal, why? I knew you were dragging your feet, but now is the perfect time! We have an escape plan, we’re ready to go, we finally have your Suit off your back…”

Neal takes a deep breath. “Actually, no, we don’t,” he says. “I have the manifest. So does Peter.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Mozzie sounds outraged over the phone, and Neal winces.

“You have a right to be angry,” he says, but Mozzie interrupts before he can go on.

“You’re damn right I do - you lied to me! Why?”

Neal sighs. “Peter called,” he says before breaking off. Mozzie wouldn’t understand that if he tried, and Neal wouldn’t ask him to. “I don’t want to leave,” he admits. “New York is my home now. Have you ever thought we might not like wiling our days away on an island somewhere?”

“But this is the dream,” Mozzie protests.

“Yeah, well dreams can change,” Neal says. “You could come back if you wanted to - I couldn’t. If I run on this now, New York is just a memory for me.”

Mozzie is silent while he lets that sink in. Then, he heaves a sigh, sounding resigned if not entirely happy. “And you need to tell the Suit about our treasure why exactly?”

“Peter still doesn’t trust me,” Neal says. “I have to tell him everything - it’s the only way to fix this. And with Keller out there… it’s only a matter of time before he finds out anyway. I’m telling you ahead of time because you’re my friend, Mozz. Peter doesn’t have the whole manifest. I’ll give you my copy and you can get out what you want before I tell him.”

“And this is really what you want?” Mozzie asks hesitantly. “This is the score of a lifetime you’re giving up, Neal.”

“I know,” Neal says. “But I want this life more. I’ll give you a day to get your share of the treasure out, okay? Then I’m telling Peter everything.”

Mozzie sighs. “One day,” he agrees. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Neal.”

“Me too,” Neal says.

***

Neal spends the next day keeping busy, working with Peter and the team on a plan for a sting to draw Keller out and brushing up on his knowledge of Egyptology. He’s not avoiding Peter, not really… he’s just keeping to himself more than usual, wary of saying the wrong thing or giving himself away sooner than he means to. If he’s not careful, he’ll tell Peter everything without a second thought, but he has to do this right. He’d promised Mozzie a day, after all. He can wait that long.

Peter notices, though, as he always does. “You okay?” he asks, leaning on the edge of Neal’s desk.

“Yeah, fine,” Neal says. “You want to grab lunch?”

“Sure,” says Peter, looking pleased.

They stop at a hot dog stand on the street and eat in the park, enjoying the cool breeze and watching the city pass them by. Peter eats his hot dog with all the enthusiasm of a true New Yorker, and Neal looks on with amusement as he uses his container to catch the drips and pauses every now and then to lick stray ketchup from his fingers.

“What, it’s a good hot dog,” Peter tells him when he catches him looking.

Neal gives an exasperated huff and takes a bite, trying to ignore the sudden flare of heat that rushes through him as Peter licks a long stripe along his pointer finger.  _ This was a bad idea, _ he thinks. But then, Neal could never resist a bad idea when he saw one. “It is,” he agrees.

Peter studies him thoughtfully and Neal arches a brow. “What, do I have something on my face?”

Peter shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “Neal, don’t bite my head off for asking… but I’m just wondering if you’re okay.”

Neal stares at him. “If I’m okay?”

“I know it must be hard, dealing with Keller and Sara all at once,” Peter clarifies.

“I’m fine, Peter,” Neal says. Peter fixes him with a look full of skepticism, his eyebrows raised, and Neal sighs. “I  _ will _ be fine,” he corrects. “Happy now?”

“If you are, Neal,” Peter says quietly, his eyes soft.

Neal clears his throat and looks away, unable to deal with the weight of Peter’s gaze when all he wants to do is return it.

“Peter, can I ask you something?” he says, and Peter nods, still watching him carefully. “You and Elizabeth,” Neal begins quietly as he fiddles with his napkin. “You’ve been together for ten years. How?”

Peter sighs and leans back, stretching his arm across the bench behind Neal’s back. Neal tries to ignore it as best he can - the thought that if he leans back too, he’ll be touching Peter is doing nothing for his already tenuous self control.

“It’s not without effort,” Peter says. “I won’t pretend that it’s easy. Of course we love each other, but love isn’t everything in a relationship like ours. It’s also a matter of choice. What we have wouldn’t work if we don’t make a choice every day that we’re here to stay, and we’re not going anywhere. It takes honesty, and patience, and trust.” He glances at Neal, his gaze steady. “It takes trust to know that we’re working for each other and not against each other, and that we can tell each other anything, because we always have each other’s back.”

Neal clears his throat. “Are we still talking about you and Elizabeth, here?” he asks, his voice rough.

“The principles are the same in any relationship,” Peter says simply.

Neal sighs. “I know,” he says, finally turning to meet Peter’s gaze. He doesn’t know what Peter sees on his face, but his eyes soften and he subtly moves his arm until the tips of his fingers brush Neal’s shoulder. Neal’s heart thuds in his chest, and he tries not to lean into the touch, forces himself not to press for more. “I am trying,” he says instead, and Peter smiles.

“I know,” Peter tells him. “Ready to head back?”

“Sure,” Neal says, tossing their empty hot dog trays into the trash. “Want to grab some coffee on the way back?”

Peter grins, bright and wide, and Neal blinks, caught off guard yet again with everything that Peter is. “Always,” Peter says, and Neal catches his elbow before he can pull away.

“Peter - thanks.”

“Any time,” Peter says, and Neal smiles, knowing that he really means it.

***

Later that night, he gets a text from Mozzie.

_ All done on my end. Good luck with your Suit. _

_ Thanks,  _ Neal replies.  _ I’m sorry. _

_ Don’t be, _ Mozzie says, and Neal breathes a sigh of relief, that he hasn’t screwed everything up with his friend. They’ll be fine.

Now, if only he could be as sure of Peter. But then again, he’s never known what to expect of Peter, and that’s one of the reasons he’s so fascinating to Neal. He wouldn’t want him any different.

He takes a deep breath and calls Peter.

Peter answers on the second ring. “Neal?”

“I have an anonymous tip for the FBI,” Neal says. He hears Peter’s sharp intake of breath and gives him a moment to let that sink in. “Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Peter says slowly. “Neal, are you sure…”

“There is a warehouse on Gansevoort and Tenth,” Neal continues. “77850, Unit A.”

Peter is silent for a moment, and Neal wishes that he can see his face. Then, he thinks it’s probably better that he doesn’t.

“What will I find at the warehouse?” Peter asks warily.

“I think you already know that,” Neal says. “And Peter, once you’ve seen it… I’d like to talk. But I want to talk to my friend Peter, not Special Agent Peter Burke. Can you do that for me?”

Peter sighs. “Full immunity?”

“I want to tell you everything,” Neal responds.

“Okay,” Peter says. For a few minutes, neither of them says anything. Then, Peter takes a hesitant breath. “You won’t run?”

Neal’s heart thumps unsteadily. “I’m here to stay,” he says, deliberately repeating Peter’s words from earlier that day. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” Peter says. “Good. I’ll see you later, Neal.”

Neal disconnects the call and puts his head in his hands. What’s done is done - now, all he has to do is wait.

***

When the call comes in a few hours later, Neal is ready for it (as ready as he’ll ever be).

“Peter,” he says.

“Did you steal it, Neal?” Peter asks without preamble.

“No.”

“Do you know who did?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“I thought you said you wanted to tell me everything.”

“Peter…”

“But I promised you full immunity, I know.”

Peter sighs, and Neal imagines him in his car, his knuckles tight as they grip the wheel. He tries to imagine the expression on his face. He’s seen Peter angry before, but he doesn’t like to think what Peter looks like now.

“I’ll be there soon,” Peter promises.

***

When Peter shows up at Neal’s door, he doesn’t look angry so much as just… tired. Tired and hurt. He blinks at Neal and his lips twitch down at the corners. No, Peter is not particularly angry at the moment, he’s more… disappointed. Neal thinks that hurts almost more than Peter’s anger would.

Peter doesn’t say a word. He simply walks past Neal and heads to the fridge, pulling out one of the terrible beers Neal’s taken to keeping stocked purely for Peter’s sake, ready to have on hand whenever he shows up.

Peter then heads over to the couch and slumps down on it, putting his feet up on the table and tipping his head back towards the ceiling. “So,” he says, still not looking at Neal. “You said you wanted to talk. Well…” he digs his badge out of his pocket and tosses it carelessly on the table, lying there in the no-man’s land between them. “Talk.”

***

“So you didn’t know about the plans to take the treasure,” Peter says, leaning forward heavily with his arms resting on his knees. “You didn’t steal it.”

“No, I didn’t,” Neal tells him. “I didn’t lie to you that night, Peter. I didn’t know. And once I did, it was too late. Things were already in motion - there wasn’t anything I could have done.”

“Yes there was.” Peter’s voice is hard and defeated, and Neal looks at him sharply. Peter meets his gaze, holding him in place. “After you learned what had been done, you chose to lie to me, Neal.” Neal opens his mouth, but Peter shakes his head. “A lie of omission is still a lie,” he says, and Neal feels the sting of the accusation like a knife to the ribs. “You could have told me the truth.”

“You wouldn’t have believed me if I did,” Neal protests. “Hell, even  _ I _ wouldn’t have believed me. And I was still trying to protect you, to protect everyone. Anyone who knew about the treasure wouldn’t be safe, you know that.”

Peter sighs and pushes his fingers through his hair before leaning back next to Neal on the couch. “Lying to me is never protecting me, Neal,” he says. “I thought we had figured that out by now. And I wish you had given me a chance to believe you and not assumed I wouldn’t.” Peter gives him a tired smile. He looks exhausted, and he’s still the most beautiful thing Neal has ever seen. “I might have surprised you.”

“Maybe,” Neal agrees. “I guess we’ll never know. I am sorry,” he says quietly. “I should have told you from the beginning.”

Peter nods. “I won’t argue with that. I am curious, though. What changed your mind? Why now?”

Neal hesitates. This is the part he’s been dreading the most. This is the tipping point, when he puts everything he is in Peter’s hands.

“I’ve been spending so much time thinking about what I owe everyone else that I never considered what I owe myself,” he says. “I don’t want to run any more. And I don’t want to leave New York.”

“Why?” Peter’s gaze is steady, his expression kind.

“You,” Neal says simply. He meets Peter’s gaze, allowing no room for him to doubt what he means. “Elizabeth. The feeling I get stepping off the elevator on the twenty first floor on Monday morning. This is my home now, Peter.”

“And when the anklet comes off?” Peter asks. “What then?”

“I’ll still be here,” Neal says. “And I won’t even ask you to trust me on this one - I’ll prove it to you, every day.”

Peter does smile then, and it’s his real smile, a true smile. “I do trust you, Neal - more than I’d like to admit.” Neal frowns at that, because he can’t quite believe it. Peter gives a helpless laugh and covers Neal’s hand with his own where it rests between them on the couch.

“I do,” he insists. “Even after everything, you’re still here. Even when you could have run, you didn’t. You’re here, talking to me, and it means a lot. Sure, I wish you would have talked to me before doing something stupid instead of after, but… it will come with time.”

Neal lets out a breath, a cautious smile curving his lips. “Time,” he says. “I can do that. But are you sure you’ll still want me around? I know I drive you crazy at the best of times.”

Peter gives a soft, amused laugh and twines their fingers together. Neal stares at him, but Peter looks supremely unconcerned, as though their holing hands is the most natural thing in the world. Peter looks right back at him, his lips twitching as though he knows exactly what Neal is thinking. “You drive me crazy in all the right way ways,” Peter says. “You make my life better by being it it. You make it more exciting. If you ask El, she would definitely say the same.”

Neal stares at him, because it almost sounds like... “You’ve talked to El about me?”

Peter smiles and tugs him closer. Neal goes willingly, still wondering if there’s any possibility he’s somehow slipped into an alternate reality because sure he hoped, but he never dared to hope for anything like this.

“Yeah, we’ve talked,” Peter says. “We’ve known for a long time that… Neal, you’re not just my CI. You’re my partner. And if you want… maybe we could be something more.”

“Oh, I want,” Neal tells him instantly. “But I never thought…”

“I’ve wanted you for a long time, Neal,” Peter admits, gently stroking his knuckles with a thumb. “I hope that’s not much of a surprise.”

“Well, no,” Neal says, “but Peter, you have to be  _ sure. _ I know how much of a risk this would be for both of us, and Elizabeth… what does she think about all of this?”

Peter smiles. “She thinks it would be hot. To be honest, she realized what was going on between us before I did. We both care about you. And if we did this… it wouldn’t be a one time thing. As for the risks, we’ve thought about that, too. We’d see if someone else could be your handler, maybe Hughes, or Diana, if she gets that promotion she’s been angling for. There won’t be any hiding - everything will be above board. This could be good, Neal. And it would be real. If that’s what you want.”

Neal stares at him, this man who is offering him everything he wants like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Wow,” he says. “You really have thought about this a lot.”

“We’ve has a lot of time to get used to the idea,” Peter tells him. “This may be new,” he strokes his thumb over Neal’s knuckles in demonstration, “but whatever this is between us… that isn’t new.”

“No, it isn’t,” Neal agrees. “Peter…” he looks down at their joined hands, marveling at the way Peter’s fingers fit so easily around his own. He feels the warmth of Peter’s skin wherever they’re touching, and it feels impossibly good. He’s never touched Peter this intimately, for this long. He doesn’t want to stop.

“Neal?” Peter prompts gently. He shifts closer on the couch, until they’re pressed together thigh to shoulder, a solid line of comfort.

“I’m worried that I’ll blink and this will all disappear,” he says, revealing the same fear he’d once admitted to Kate. “Everything in my life has always been so… temporary. I’ve never had anything like this. I never even thought I could.”

Peter’s eyes go soft, and he raises a hand to frame Neal’s face. He moves closer slowly, carefully gaging Neal’s reactions until their foreheads are resting together. “Me and El… we’re not going anywhere,” he says, whispering the words against Neal’s lips. “I hate to say it, but you’re stuck with us now.”

Neal laughs shakily. “Not a bad place to be,” he says. He brings up his hand to wrap around Peter’s neck, stroking his fingers experimentally through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He’s wanted to do that for so long, and now it’s finally happening. If he plays his cards right, this might be his life now. “I really want to kiss you,” he confesses, and Peter smiles.

“Then kiss me,” he says.

***

Neal doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing Peter.

Peter kisses him slow and steady, dedicating himself to the task with the same single minded determination he gives everything else. Peter’s lips are soft and sweet, but they move against his with a sense of inevitability, as though there was only ever one way this could have ended. “You’re an FBI agent and I’m a con man,” he remembers telling Peter once, “there’s only a few ways this could have ended.” He never even thought of this, except in his most secret daydreams of his heart, never even hoped it might become real. And yet, here they are, against all odds.

Neal presses closer and swipes his tongue along Peter’s lower lip, carefully drawing out the new lines and dimensions of their relationship. He can never resist testing the limits and pushing the boundaries with Peter, and this is no exception. It’s always been like a game between them, a complicated dance in which Neal learns just how much Peter will let him get away with. In this, the desire that’s been simmering between them for so long, the answer is apparently: anything. Peter will let him have anything he wants, because he wants everything, too.

Peter’s mouth opens for him easily and their tongues tangle together, and then it’s like flipping a switch. Their kisses turn hot and heavy, fueled with all the desperation of years of carefully hidden need finally set free.

Peter draws him closer as he sucks Neal’s tongue into his mouth, his fingers tight and bruising on his hips. Neal makes a low, rough sound at the thought of wearing Peter’s marks on his skin, and he scrambles on the couch until he’s straddling Peter’s hips, claiming Peter’s mouth with lips and tongue.

Dragging his palms down Peter’s firm back, he nips at Peter’s lip before nosing at Peter’s jaw, breathing in his scent as he drags his teeth along the soft skin there. Peter groans, the sound loud in the quiet room, and Neal smirks, tugging Peter’s earlobe between his teeth.

Peter’s hips jerk against his and he slides his hands over Neal’s thighs to grip at his ass. They snap together perfectly, rocking in tandem, and a gasp tears itself from Neal’s throat as he ruts against Peter shamelessly, the delicious friction setting off fireworks behind his eyes.

He can feel Peter’s erection pressing against him through their clothes, and he moans into Peter’s mouth, his hands fumbling with Peter’s belt and working on his pants. Meanwhile, Peter has his tie open and is starting on his shirt, his fingers exploring each new inch of skin he reveals. When Peter’s thumb brushes over a nipple, teasing it between his fingers, Neal swears, biting down hard on Peter’s tongue, and then on his lip.

“Peter, please,” he begs, not caring how desperate he sounds, nor how needy, because he  _ does _ need Peter - he needs him like he needs to take his next breath, and he always has. “Please Peter, please,” he says, and Peter kisses him hard and dirty, plundering Neal’s mouth with lips and teeth and tongue. He makes quick work of Neal’s belt and his zipper, sticking his hand down Neal’s pants to draw him out, taking them both in hand to stroke them together.

At the first touch of Peter’s hand on his dick, his grip firm and unyielding, Neal keens, a high, needy sound he hadn’t known he was capable of making. He pants into Peter’s mouth and bucks into Peter’s hand, desperately urging him on, but Peter seems to have other ideas. He keeps the pace deliberately steady, his pupils blown wide as he rakes his gaze over Neal’s face, his chest, their erections pressed together in his big fist.

Neal can’t guess what he looks like, but Peter looks amazing, sweaty and flushed and disheveled, as Neal has never seen him. “Damn you’re gorgeous,” Neal breathes, and Peter flushes.

“Look who’s talking,” Peter says, and Neal laughs, breathless with wonder.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Neal confesses, his voice rough with feeling. “Peter…” He reaches out with a trembling hand to cup Peter’s jaw, tracing the pad of his thumb along his lower lip.

“Me too,” Peter says quietly. His eyes dark, he nips at Neal’s thumb and laves it with his tongue. Neal’s breath leaves him in a rush and Peter gives him a pleased smirk. He presses a gentle kiss to Neal’s fingertips, a counterpoint to his relentlessness as he strokes them towards the edge together.

“Peter…” Neal gasps, his thighs trembling with effort.

“You close?” Peter asks, his voice dark with desire, his lips beautifully slick and swollen from their kisses. He slides those lips up Neal’s neck, and Neal whines high in his throat, his fingers scrambling for purchase against Peter’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Neal breathes, as he feels pleasure coiling tight at the base of his spine. “Peter, please…” 

He hardly knows what he is asking for, but Peter gives him a knowing look, tugging him closer and thumbing the head of Neal’s cock as he strokes them hard and fast. Peter bites on the sensitive skin just below Neal’s ear, sharp and stinging, and Neal shouts, his fingers digging into Peter’s skin.

“Come for me, Neal,” Peter whispers, his voice low and husky and absolutely wrecked as he punctuates his words with a clever twist of his wrist. Neal gasps and shudders above him, helpless to resist.

He comes apart, spilling between them, coating Peter’s fingers with his release, when it hits him: this changes everything. All the careful lines and boundaries between them have been swept aside, and nothing will ever be the same, but that’s okay. It will be better.

And Peter’s arm is around around him, strong and secure. Peter’s other hand is still wrapped around his cock, frantically working himself towards the finish. Already floating on air, Neal watches, fascinated as Peter’s muscles flex and contract, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his brow. His mouth is open, his breathing harsh, desperate sounds escaping him as he nears the edge.

Suddenly, Neal knows exactly what he needs. He cups Peter’s face between his hands, leaning their foreheads together and pressing his lips to Peter’s, gentle and chaste. “I love you,” he whispers against Peters lips, because it’s true, because it feels right. “I love you, Peter,” he says again, and Peter’s eyes fix on him, wide with wonder. He shudders in Neal’s arms comes with a cry, and Neal holds him through it, pressing kisses everywhere he can reach.

For a while they are silent, both of them catching their breath. Neal slumps down in Peter’s lap, his arms circling his waist. Meanwhile, Peter presses his lips to the side of Neal’s head, his palm stroking absently up and down Neal’s spine. Neal makes a happy, contented sound and snuggles in, his lips brushing Peter’s neck.

“You realize we just came in our pants like teenagers,” he says after a few minutes, lifting his head slightly to meet Peter’s amused gaze. “When there’s a perfectly good bed right over there.”

Peter huffs a laugh and tips Neal’s chin up to kiss him, soft and slow, his thumb stroking along the line of Neal’s jaw. “It was long overdue,” he says quietly, nudging their noses together. “But some time,” Peter continues, his eyes going dark, “I’ll go slow. I’ll hold you down and make you wait.” Neal’s breath leaves him in a rush, and Peter grins. “How do you feel about handcuffs?” he asks.

Neal’s lips quirk. “When it’s you?” he says, brushing their lips together gently. “I promise I won’t slip the cuffs.” He looks up at Peter, a teasing light in his eyes. “Unless you want me to, of course. Then you could catch me again. Put me in my place. Show me who’s boss.” Peter’s eyes darken at the suggestion, and Neal sniggers in response, poking him in the chest. “Yeah that’s right - I’ve got your number, Burke,” he says, and Peter laughs helplessly, seizing him in a firm kiss.

When they finally come up for air, they’re sprawled across the couch, Neal’s legs dangling over the edge as Peter leans over him, hands warm on his sides. “How did we ever end up here,” he breathes, and Peter smiles down at him.

“Back when I was chasing you,” he says, “you with your cryptic clues and late night phone calls from international numbers… the cookies and the birthday cards. You were brilliant and cocky and beautiful, and I knew I was in trouble.”

Neal grins like a cat that got the cream, and Peter kisses him, their tongues tangling together. Neal moans and arches into it, raking his fingers down Peter’s back. He feels Peter’s cock jerk with renewed interest against him, and Peter gasps, pulling away with a slick sound.

“Neal…” Peter says, a gentle admonition. Neal reaches for him, but Peter stills him with a finger to his lips. Neal gives him his best pout, but Peter just rolls his eyes, pressing his lips between his eyebrows.

“You know what I told El, when you broke out?” he says. “I said to her, ‘he’s smart, and you know how I like smart.’ And so I took your deal, even though I was 90 percent sure it had to be some kind of con, just because I realized I liked you. Then one day I came downstairs to find you sitting on my couch with my wife and petting my dog… and that’s when I knew. You belong here, Neal. With us.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Neal says. “We were thinking about taking the art and running, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you. I love you, Peter. I love you both.”

Peter smiles, and kisses him gently. “I love you too,” he says, and Neal kisses him back hungrily, his heart seeming too big for his chest. “Whatever we have to do to fix this,” Peter says, pulling back to look at him, “we’ll do it together.”

Neal nods. “Together,” he agrees.

***

Neal wakes the next morning to a warm bed, his muscles aching pleasantly in all the right ways. He stretches luxuriously and rolls on his side to see Peter lying next to him with his eyes still closed in sleep, his breath coming softly through his nose.

Neal smiles and resists the urge to trace Peter’s lips with his fingers. Heat rushes through his body at the memory of the kisses they’d shared the night before, equal parts desperation and hunger and need balanced by the tenderness and devotion of years gone by.

They’d been too exhausted for anything else after their desperate fumble on the couch - they’d been through the ringer that day, both physically and emotionally. After a cursory wipe down, they’d brushed their teeth together, grinning at each other in the mirror as their elbows bumped companionably.

“Can you stay?” Neal had asked quietly, and Peter nodded. “El told me if I came home after this, she’d kick my ass,” he said. “But we both owe her one.” Then, they collapsed on the bed completely naked and curled around each other, warm and sated.

And now, here they are. Nothing has changed… and yet everything has changed.

“You want to take a picture?” Peter says then, and Neal blinks in surprise, not having noticed he was even awake. Peter’s eyes flutter open, and he glances sideways at Neal, his lips curving in amusement. “It’s a regular kodak moment.”

Neal laughs and leans over to kiss him, his lips closed against morning breath. “Not exactly of the PG-13 variety,” he says. “What, do you want me to hang it over the mantle or something?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Tell me anyone who walks into this apartment would be surprised,” he says, and Neal purses his lips.

“Point,” he says. “But maybe I’ll draw you sometime,” he considers, slowly drawing a palm down Peter’s muscled chest, “like one of my French girls.”

Peter flushes in response, and Neal frowns at him. “Well, why not?” he says. “You’re gorgeous, Peter.” Peter sighs, and Neal turns his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Seriously?” he says. “You really have no idea how amazing you are.” Peter looks at him steadily but says nothing, and Neal sighs, rising up to straddle him.

“You don’t know how hot you get me?” Neal says, his voice dark as he rolls one of Peter’s nipples between his fingers and bends to suck the other into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. Peter gasps, jerking beneath him, and Neal looks up to meet his gaze.

“I stand next to you in the conference room,” he continues, “your muscles straining beneath those stupid untailored shirts, your harness showing your body off in all the right places, and I can barely resist tackling you right then and there.” Peter stares at him with wide eyes, and Neal smiles, remembering all the times he’s wanted to give in and jump Peter that minute, never mind who’s watching.

“Your body isn’t made to be put on display,” Neal says, bending to trace the lines of Peter’s abs with his tongue. “Your muscles are made with work and sweat.” He looks up again, and Peter’s chest is heaving with the effort of keeping still, desire written all over his face. “That’s why I can’t quite believe I’m here to see it,” Neal says with quiet honesty, and Peter moans, low and desperate.

“Of course you’re here,” he says, “you’re mine, Neal. You’re ours, mine and Elizabeth’s.”

Neal gives him a slow, pleased smile and strokes him firmly, making his breath hitch. “Neal, please,” he says, and Neal leans in close.

“What do you want?” he asks, and Peter shudders, spreading his legs so Neal can kneel between them.

“I want your mouth,” Peter says then in a low whisper, like he’s telling a secret.

Neal smiles and bends between his knees. “I can work with that,” he says. “Condoms?” he asks. “Yes or no.”

Peter shakes his head. “I’m clean,” he says. “So is El.”

Neal nods. “Me too,” he says. “We can wait, if you want - I can get tested again,” but Peter shakes his head, sliding his fingers along Neal’s jaw.

“I trust you,” he says simply, and Neal’s heart swells in his chest.

“I love you, Peter Burke,” he says helplessly, and Peter smiles.

“And I love you,” he replies easily, like he’s said it hundreds of times before. “Now get to work,” he says, motioning at his crotch, and Neal laughs, delighted.

“Yes sir,” he says, half mocking, half… something else entirely. Peter’s eyes darken with interest, and Neal can’t wait any more. He wraps his fingers around the base of Peter’s cock and bends to suck the head into his mouth. Peter groans and falls back on his elbows, his back arching obscenely as Neal takes him in, feeling the weight of Peter in his mouth.

“God, you look good down there,” Peter says roughly, and Neal moans, his eyes slipping closed as he starts to move slowly, taking his time.

Soon, Peter is gasping and trembling above him, Neal’s name spilling from his mouth again and again. Neal drinks it all in, from the salty sweetness of Peter on his tongue, to the way Peter looks as he comes undone, and the way it sounds like he’s not only begging Neal for release, but for… everything.

“Neal,” Peter moans, and he sounds like he’s a second away from coming apart. His fingers slide into Neal’s hair, tugging insistently, and Neal pulls off, letting Peter draw him up until they’re face to face.

“Like this,” he says, rolling them to cover Neal’s body with his own. “I want to see you.” He thrusts his hips and Neal gasps, his own cock throbbing with need. He grabs Peter’s ass and pulls him in, rocking them together until he’s gasping with it, until Peter is cursing above him, pressing his lips to Neal’s heated skin.

“Fuck, Peter,” he groans, and slips his hand between them, stroking them frantically. “Peter,” he says again, desperate and wanting, and Peter cups his face in his hands and kisses him. Peter kisses him deep and dirty, heedless of morning breath, of the taste of himself on Neal’s tongue.

And then Peter freezes above him, his cock jerking in Neal’s hand, and as he comes, Neal follows him over the edge, shaking in his arms. “Peter,” Neal breathes, feeling almost giddy with happiness, and so ridiculously, impossibly in love it bowls him over yet again. Peter collapses on top of him, and Neal huffs a laugh, resigning himself to being pleasantly crushed, reveling in the feel of Peter’s skin against his. He is drifting on the edge of sleep, floating on waves of pleasure when his alarm rings beside them.

_ Damn, _ he thinks. They still have work, Keller, the whole mess laid out before them. But Neal knows they can work it out, together. Peter is good at working through things, after all, but together… together they are unstoppable.

Peter groans and leans across him to fumble for the alarm, nearly knocking it off the table. “I’m going to learn to hate that alarm, aren’t I,” he grumbles.

His nose is scrunched adorably, and Neal can’t help himself - he bursts into laughter. “It’s work, Peter - you love work,” he says. “Shower with me?”

Peter rolls his eyes and follows him into the bathroom, his hands on Neal’s hips as he turns on the water. “A  _ short _ shower,” he allows, gently pressing his lips to the back of Neal’s neck, his face serious when Neal turns to look at him. “And then we’re taking Keller down for good.”

Neal takes Peter’s hand and pulls him into the shower, meeting his gaze evenly. “Okay,” he says simply, because he trusts Peter. He trusts Peter with his life, and his heart. He trusts Peter to do what needs to be done. But he can’t find the words to say it, so instead he smiles and hands Peter a bar of soap. “A short shower,” he agrees, leaning in to kiss Peter softly, letting the water wash them clean.

***

Ever predictable, Peter corners him in the van as they’re prepping for the Keller op. “Don’t mess around in there, Neal,” he insists, grabbing his elbow, his grip a little tight, a little desperate. “ID the scarab and the minute Keller shows up, call us in. You go dark for more than a minute and I’m going in, whether or not it makes this op a bust. We can expect Keller to strike in a window that small. You hear me?”

Neal looks up at Peter, carefully putting a hand on his bicep. It’s a casual gesture, one that could be interpreted as purely platonic, but Neal feels the tension slowly drain from Peter’s muscles at his touch.

“Peter,” he says, waiting until Peter meets his gaze. “I’ll be fine. Okay? I know what I’m doing, you know that.”

“Be careful,” Peter insists, his eyes sharp and worried. “Neal, we do this right, and Keller goes away for good. If this goes south…”

Neal sighs, and leans forward into Peter’s space the tiniest bit, wishing he could pull Peter into a hug like he wants to. “I know,” he says. “I’ll be careful, Peter. We’ll get this done.”

Peter studies him and then nods, gently taking Neal’s hand from his arm. His eyes carefully scanning the rest of the van, Peter briefly tangles their fingers together, squeezing tight in a moment of stolen comfort. Neal understands what he can’t say: that it’s also a promise, and it’s one they both mean to keep.

No one in the van appears to have noticed anything, but Neal sees the way their eyes are carefully averted, the hastily exchanged sidelong looks when they think he and Peter aren’t watching, and he wants to laugh in delighted astonishment.

Peter was right: honestly, it seems no one they know would be surprised to learn of the change in their relationship. And, it seems no one is keen to give them away, but that is no surprise - they’re a team; their loyalty to Peter, and by extension Neal, is unshakable.

Their job is to back Peter’s play, but it seems they have taking the calling above and beyond the line of duty. At that moment, Neal is sure that whatever else happens, their relationship will be guarded carefully - they couldn’t have wished for a better team.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “You have any gadgets for me?”

Peter’s lips twitch, and he hands him a watch. “Your gps and recording device,” he tells him. “Turn it off when she sweeps you for bugs, and only then, you hear me?”

Neal grins, slipping the watch around his wrist. “I know how you like to keep an eye on me,” he says. “This will work, Peter.”

Peter closes his eyes and lets out a breath, and Neal can almost hear him telling himself to focus. “I know,” Peter says. “Just…”

“I know,” Neal says. “I’ll be careful.”

He knows this will work. With Peter at his back, he can do anything.

***

Peter bursts in the studio just in time. The fence is long gone, but she was never the end game, after all.

“Agent Peter Burke,” Keller drawls. He points his gun at Peter, and Neal’s heart rate kicks up a notch. Peter glances at him, and then his eyes flicker to the door behind Neal and a little to his right. Neal nods, and surreptitiously moves to block the exit. Agents fan out around the room, but Keller seems only concerned with Peter, moving in on him slowly.

“I’ve just been having a chat with your boy Caffrey here,” he says. “You know he has the treasure, Petey? Stole it right under your nose. If he leads me to the treasure, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. If not…”

Peter’s lips tighten, the gun held steady in his hands. “You’re in no position to be making threats, Keller,” he says. “And sorry to disappoint, but the treasure isn’t Neal’s to give away, or yours to take. It’s going back to where it belongs.”

Keller raises his eyebrows. “Oh, so he told you, did he? I’d say I’m surprised, but you’ve always had him on a tight leash, isn’t that right, Neal?” He turns to smirk at Neal, his expression nowhere near friendly. “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “New deal. Take me to the treasure, and I will let your Peter live.”

“The FBI doesn’t negotiate,” Peter says firmly, moving in closer. “Drop the gun, and I won’t shoot you in the arm. How’s that for a deal?”

Neal shrugs, knowing by the crazed light in Keller’s eyes that he’s about a second away from giving in, or doing something stupid. With Keller, it’s always a toss up. “I’d listen to him,” Neal says. “He has good aim.”

Keller’s expression flickers, and for a moment he just looks angry - angry and defeated. “You’re surrounded,” Neal says. “Give it up, Keller.”

Keller’s gaze swings between him and Peter, and Neal can almost see him weighing his options. After a few breathless seconds, Keller makes a face and lowers the gun to the table. “You win this time, Caffrey,” he says as the agents cuff his hands behind his back. “But the next move is mine. This isn’t over.”

Neal lets out a breath, moving to stand next to Peter. “It is for you,” he says simply. Peter turns to give him a smile, and Neal smiles back, because they’ve done it. It’s finally over, and he can breathe easy again.

And now, it’s time to go home, to Peter and Elizabeth. Forget the island - this is the best ending he could have wished for.

***

Neal can’t help feeling like he’s wandered into some strange alternate reality. He’s sitting at the dining room table with Peter and Elizabeth, which is nothing out of the ordinary in itself. What is different and entirely new is… everything else, really.

What’s different: Elizabeth’s bare foot sliding up his calf underneath his trousers, teasing him slow and leisurely. Her eyes remain fixed on her plate, but her lips are twitching up at the corners, and Neal is sure that she knows exactly what she’s doing. 

What’s different: the way Peter’s fingers keep accidentally on purpose brushing his as they reach across the table, the way Peter’s gaze lingers a little too long. Neal leans back in his seat, casually spreading his legs, and Peter stutters to a halt in the middle of a sentence, picking up after a few breathless seconds.

Neal grins widely as he looks between Peter and Elizabeth, so determined to sit casually at the table. He knows why they’re doing it, of course: they are staking a claim, making clear to him that they are serious about this, that this means more to them than just a roll in the hay. It’s absolutely adorable and also completely unnecessary - Neal has known what this means to all of them for a long time.

“So, are we working late tonight?” Neal asks as they stand at the kitchen sink later, a drying towel thrown over his shoulder as Elizabeth passes him dishes. Neal hands Peter a dry plate, smiling up at him. “What’s the story?”

Peter makes a face, clearly not happy that there even has to be a story to begin with. “You were roughed up after the Keller case - we offered to let you crash at our place,” he says. “You’re right where you’re supposed to be.”

“We’ve thought about this, sweetie,” Elizabeth tells him. “We don't want to hide, but our first priority is keeping you safe.”

Peter nods. “Our house doesn’t trigger an alert on your anklet, and hopefully no one will be watching too closely, but we don’t want to raise any eyebrows. We’ll have to be careful, but we can do this if we’re smart about it. And then with your commutation heading in three months…”

Neal raises an eyebrow. “So all I need to do is behave for three months,” he says, grinning wide. “I can do that, no problem.”

Elizabeth laughs and presses a kiss to his cheek; Peter just stares at him helplessly. “You really don’t mind waiting?”

“Peter,” Neal says seriously, “I’ve been waiting for years. What’s a few more months?”

Peter’s face does something complicated and he reaches to pull Neal in, cupping his face between his hands and kissing him long and deep. “Neal,” he breathes when he finally draws back, wonder in his eyes. He looks over at Elizabeth with quiet desperation, and Elizabeth turns off the faucet and smiles at them.

“No more waiting,” she says.

***

Upstairs, any restraint they might have had rapidly vanishes along with the growing pile of their discarded clothes. Neal struggles with his cufflinks, biting out a curse as he is forced to tear his gaze away from the sight of Peter and Elizabeth kissing while Peter unhooks Elizabeth’s bra and Elizabeth relieves Peter of his pants and briefs. They both look over at Neal, and Elizabeth holds out a hand. “Come here,” she says, and removes the cufflinks with sure fingers, pressing her lips to the inside of his wrists.

“Elizabeth,” he says, his voice almost unrecognizably rough, and she looks up at him with sharp eyes, her pupils dilating as she takes him in. “Neal,” she whispers softly, and kisses him.

At the first touch of Elizabeth’s tongue against his, Neal moans into her mouth and pulls her in closer with an arm around her waist, his other hand sliding into her dark hair. Elizabeth is all enticing curves and smooth skin and subtle strength, and Neal drinks it all in, exploring her mouth eagerly as he maps her body with his hands.

Her back arches, bringing their hips together, and Neal gasps, his mouth falling open. Her breasts are pressed up against his chest, her nipples tightening with interest, and Neal can’t resist taking one between his fingers, massaging and squeezing as he drinks in the sounds spilling from her mouth.

“Bed,” he hears Peter groan nearby, and he pulls away from Elizabeth with a wet, slick sound to see Peter staring at them with wide, dark eyes, his hand fisted tight around his cock.

Neal raises his eyebrows and turns to Elizabeth, kissing her laughing and open mouthed. “I think he likes what he sees,” she whispers, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and Peter bites out a strangled curse.

“Bed,” he says, stroking himself in rough, desperate movements, “or this will be over before it’s started.”

Neal stares at Peter, stroking himself off at the sight of the two of them together, and feels a sudden flare of heat rush up his spine. “I think he’s right,” he tells Elizabeth seriously. She grins at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, and pulls him towards the bed.

They land in a tangle of limbs, Elizabeth pulling Neal on top of her, Peter settling against the headboard beside them. Elizabeth reaches for him and pulls him close, smoothing her palms down his back.

He shudders, overwhelmed with the sensation of all that skin against skin, and she hums appreciatively, giving Peter a heated glance. “You’re right,” she tells him, “he is ridiculously pretty like this,” and Neal stares at them, still processing the fact that they’d talked about this, talked about  _ him  _ like this.

Neal tries to think of something to say, some smooth response to this new revelation, but for once, words fail him. He huffs a laugh and shakes his head, leaning over to kiss Peter hard before turning back to Elizabeth. “How do you want me?” he asks, and she cards her fingers through his hair, kissing him softly. 

“I want you every way,” she says, “but first, I want your mouth.”

It’s a surreal echo of what her husband had said the other night, and Neal pauses, delighted. He looks at Peter, who raises a brow, laughter in his eyes. Elizabeth glances between them, clearly amused. “Something funny?” she asks.

“Deja vu,” he says, grinning wide. “Great minds think alike, apparently.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrows and then she gasps in understanding, her eyes going dark at the thought. “Ohhh,” she says, breathing a sigh as Neal mouths down her stomach, “I have got to see that sometime.”

“You will,” Neal promises, “but first…” He spreads her folds with his fingers and lowers his head to lick at her, tasting the sweet-salty tang of her on his tongue. Elizabeth moans and rocks against his tongue, her fingers tangling in the sheets. Neal looks up at her, face flushed, hair a mess, and thinks that he has never seen her so beautiful. Apparently, he’s not the only one - Peter swears and pulls her in for a kiss, openmouthed and dirty.

Neal moans at the sight, his own cock throbbing with interest, and grips at Elizabeth’s hips, licking at her in long stripes and presssing the flat of his tongue to her clit. Above him, Elizabeth is gasping, small strangled sounds escaping her, and he hears Peter breathing harshly beside them, watching it all.

Soon, Elizabeth is shuddering around him, her thighs trembling as she shakes and moans. Neal feels Peter’s hand slide into his hair and looks up to see them both staring at him like he’s more than they knew to ask for.

“Now use your fingers,” Peter says roughly, tugging him up until he’s straddling Elizabeth again, chest to chest. “All at once, when she’s like this.”

“Fuck,” Neal says fervently and turns to capture Peter’s mouth, kissing him desperately as he slides two fingers into Elizabeth where she’s already wet and wanting.

Elizabeth’s hips jerk and she slides her fingers into his hair, his name spilling from her lips. He angles his fingers up into her and thumbs her clit relentlessly and her mouth falls open in a silent cry, her fingers clenching tight in his hair as she convulses around him. “Neal,” she moans, her lips searching, and he kisses her as he works her through it until she settles, collapsing against the headboard with a long sigh.

“Fuck,” Neal says again and takes her face in his hands, pressing his lips to her temple, her eyelids, the side of her nose. Elizabeth laughs, breathless and giddy, and smiles at him.

“Go,” she says, sliding her palm down his side and giving his ass a playful slap. “You boys take care of each other. I’m basking.”

Neal looks over to Peter, who is already reaching for him with desperate hands, his cock still hard and leaking. “As the lady says,” Peter tells him, his voice hoarse with need.

Peter’s hands splay across his back, pulling them flush, until Neal can feel the hardness of Peter’s cock against his own, hot and heavy and perfect. Almost dizzy with want, Neal rests his hands against the tight muscles of Peter’s chest, feeling them flex and contract as their harsh breathing mingles in the air between them.

“I really want to ride you,” Neal confesses, and Peter’s fingers tighten on his skin, his breath leaving him in a rush.

“Christ, Neal,” he says, glancing at Elizabeth, who’s kneeling on the bed beside them and staring at them with dark eyes. “El?” he asks, and Elizabeth makes a low, choked sound as she meets his gaze.

“Yes,” she says, and turns to fumble with the bedside table. “We need…”

“Yes,” Peter groans, claiming Neal’s mouth with lips and tongue and kissing him desperately, his hands sliding down to his ass and squeezing, hard and possessive. “Can’t wait to feel you around me, bet you’ll be so tight, so perfect,  _ Neal… _ ” 

Neal keens bucks into him, his fingers scrabbling for purchase against Peter’s shoulders. And then there’s another presence curved around him, another set of hands smoothing along his sides, and they’re cool and calming and setting him on fire all at once.

“Shhh,” Elizabeth whispers in his ear, her hair brushing his neck. “We’ve got you, Neal, let us take care of you.” Her hands massage him gently, her lips soft on his heated skin, and he melts into her touch gratefully, sagging against Peter’s firm chest. “That’s it,” Elizabeth murmurs, and Neal feels her slick fingers circling around his hole.

When she slides a finger into him, he cries out, biting down on Peter’s lip. Peter soothes him with his lips and hands as he rocks back against Elizabeth’s fingers, welcoming the tight burn as he stretches around her.

“More,” Neal moans, “more El, more…”

Elizabeth makes a broken sound behind him and adds another finger. She drives into him hard and fast, hitting him just right, nailing his prostate with every thrust, and soon he’s gasping and shivering and hot all over. “Another,” he gasps, and Elizabeth gives it to him, her mouth hot and open on the back of his neck.

“He feel good, honey?” Peter asks, looking around his shoulder to where his wife is working him open. “So hot for you, for us…” Elizabeth moans and leans up to kiss him over Neal’s shoulder, slick and wet.

Neal, sandwiched between them, feels like he could fall apart at any moment. “Peter,” he says, “Peter, El, I’m ready, I’m ready, Peter  _ now… _ ”

Elizabeth lifts her eyebrows. “I think he’s ready, hon,” she says, and moves aside so they can slide down on the bed, Neal’s hands on Peter’s chest as he straddles him, lining himself up carefully.

“Neal,” Peter breathes as he slides down in one long, slow movement. They both moan, low and needy, and Peter’s fingers tighten and release on Neal’s hips, over and over. “Neal, oh Neal,” he says, panting with the effort of keeping still.

Neal can see what it’s costing him to lie there, he can tell it is taking everything Peter has to resist the urge to flip them and pound into Neal until he’s screaming for him. Neal is breathless at the thought, and part of him wants it desperately, but part of him wants to go as slow as he can until Peter is begging and shuddering under his hands.

It’s an impossible decision, and Neal can’t bring himself to choose. “El?” he asks, turning to her and tugging her close, pressing his lips to her neck. “Fast or slow?”

Elizabeth looks at Peter, her eyes dark, and then leans in to nip at Neal’s earlobe, tugging it between her teeth. “Fast as you can,” she whispers, her breath hot on his skin, and Neal moans gratefully.

He rises up and sinks down again, his movements sure and steady, his hands braced on Peter’s flushed chest as he fucks himself on Peter’s cock. “Oh god,” Peter chokes out, and grasps at one of Neal’s hand where it rests on his chest. “Neal,” Peter says, staring up at them with desperation as his fingers clench around Neal’s hand. “Neal, please…”

Elizabeth gently covers their hands with her own. “Not yet, honey,” she tells him, her other hand curving around Neal’s back, “a little while longer…”

Peter’s jaw clenches and his eyes slam closed, his back arching off the bed. “Neal,” Peter bites out, flushed and wanting with need, “El, Neal, can’t, I need…”

“Now,” Elizabeth says, leaning down to kiss Peter deeply. “Now,” she repeats, kneeling back up beside Neal, staring at the place where he and Peter are joined with hungry eyes.

Neal nods, breathing harshly through his nose as he looks at Peter spread out beneath him, his vision blurring with lust. His hair falls into his face, a bead of sweat slipping down his nose as he works himself on Peter’s dick hard and fast. He slams his hips down, giving no quarter, and Peter shouts, tightening his grip on Neal’s fingers as his hips hitch up instinctively.

Neal can feel himself trembling all over, his own need threatening to spill over as Peter falls apart beneath him, emptying into him with a cry. As Neal is still staring with wide eyes, he feels Elizabeth moves closer, her slick hand wrapping around his own dick, still hard and aching.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes, turning his head into her neck, and she works him through it with expert ruthlessness, and he comes within seconds, muffling his shout in her shoulder.

“Wow,” he says dazedly, slumping against her, and he turns to see Peter watching them with a lazy smile.

“Wow,” Peter agrees softly, and Neal’s heart clenches. He pulls off of Peter’s cock with a slight wince and curls next to him, pulling him into a long, slow kiss. He feels Elizabeth spoon up behind him, her fingers exploring his ass, still wet with Peter’s come, and it’s enough to send a spike of heat through him yet again.

Neal laughs, amazed at himself, and Elizabeth kisses his neck, winding an arm around him. “This is going to get uncomfortable very soon,” he informs them, and Peter chuckles, his lips tracing Neal’s jaw.

“Just a little longer,” Peter says, kissing the corner of his mouth as Elizabeth settles against him. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“A little while longer,” Neal agrees, letting himself drift off in their arms, where he belongs. Peter and Elizabeth and Neal, together at last. They can enjoy this moment now, because Peter is right about one thing: they’ve waited for it long enough.

Neal lets himself relax into their embrace and closes his eyes, and for once, his mind is quiet, completely at ease. For once, he doesn’t want to be anywhere else. He’s right where he wants to be, and he knows he’s here to stay. If he had all the treasure in the world, he couldn’t ask for anything more.

***

E N D

***


End file.
